


Say It!

by Call_Me_J



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Brotherly Love, Confessions, Cute, Fluff, I think those might be all the tags, John is Not Amused, M/M, Molly is a saint, Mycroft is also a saint, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock is an idiot, Super Short Story, but not too much, there all done, wait no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15476916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_J/pseuds/Call_Me_J
Summary: After Sherlock took out most of Moriarty's web, Mycroft and Molly both agree on one thing; Sherlock should tell John that he was alive. But Sherlock knew the doctor better than both combined and knew that John would never forgive him for something he saw as a betrayal. After unavoidable events take place that puts John in the line of danger again, Sherlock gathers his courage and finds his doctor.





	Say It!

Molly stood in a house that most didn’t even know existed. But that fact held no interest to her. No, the six-foot-something baby had all her attention.

“Sherlock.” She said his name beseechingly. The detective was lying on the guest bedroom in his brother’s house where he had gone to recuperate before his next trip.

“Molly, either finish your sentence or please leave me alone,” he snapped. “As riveting as your stutter is, Ms Hooper, I’m afraid Iー”

“No.” Molly’s voice, usually so shy and polite, had none of its trademark gentle qualities.

“Pardon me?” Sherlock asked, a single eyebrow raised. Molly imagined if he was seated at his beloved armchair in 221B that he might have crossed his arms and placed one leg on the other.

As it were, they were far from Baker Street and the detective was currently lounging in his bed in only the coverlet. That knowledge might have once made her blush or reinforce her crush on the detective, but those days were long past. Molly’s gaze was no longer blinded by her silly school love. The past few months of watching over a mostly sulky Sherlock destroyed any stray romantic feelings she may have harboured. That, and she had moved on to greener and more prospective fields.

“You can’t _do_ this, Sherlock!” Molly gestured wildly at the white-washed and bland room. It was a mess of clothes and books but impersonal nonetheless.

“I have no idea what you are speaking of.” Only he did know because he drew coverlet over his head and turned, causing his words to be muffled by the bedsheet.

Molly strode over to the bed, leaving her place at the door. She quickly grasped the coverlet and ripped it from the detective’s body.

“Molly!” The detective screeched as the cold air rushed in all at once. He desperately pulled on the sheet before giving up and dragging his pillow to cover his…male parts. Molly paid his actions no attention, focusing on his eyes instead.

“Now you listen here,” Molly started, staring down into the face of a very red detective. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You have finished off most of your work, the ones that pose a danger is going to be taken care of by your brother, you have been sulking continuously for the past seven months. Sherlock,” Molly reached out with one hand and rustled the detective’s hair, something she knew he hated because it reminded him of John. He didn’t seem to notice it this time though and only managed a slight grimace in reaction. “You have to go home. You miss him but he needs you, Sherlock. Do us all a favour? Go home.”

Sherlock smiled, a small pleased thing. Molly could have sworn it was the first genuine emotion shown by the detective since he left John, since his goodbye on the rooftop.

“I am pleased that you have finally moved past your frivolous sentiment for me, Molly. Now, please give me back my sheet.” With that, Sherlock yanked the coverlet away and burrowed inside again.

“Sherlock…” Molly said warningly, frowning down at the lump on the bed.

“Yes, yes,” Sherlock reached out from under the sheet with one hand, waving her off. It was an odd sight, a single long limb protruding from the white coverlet. “I heard what you said, Molly, and I will consider it. Now, please leave me to recuperate. I believe I have a visit to Russia soon. Пока́!”

Molly frowned again. “Did you not hear? I thought I mentioned -”

“What?” Sherlock whipped the duvet down to his chin blinking impatiently at Molly.

“Your brother has sent his men to take care of it.”

“That bloody git,” Sherlock snarled, though he turned his face. A blank mask fell over his face. “That was the last major site of Moriarty’s web. That was the last place that posed any danger to us - to me. When did he send his group?”

“Um, a couple days?” Molly asked. She had thought that the detective knew so didn’t pay much attention to Mycroft.

“Fuck,” Sherlock thumped his head back on his pillow a few times. That was possibly the first time Molly had ever heard the detective swear and it sounded wrong to her ears. She said nothing, however, still not brave enough to cross the detective when he was this frustrated. “Considering how slow and sluggish Mycroft’s team is, it is very unlikely that they have finished it up. And the only thing left to do is to kill Tsarevich Korovin's right-hand man. They don’t even have to kill the grand duke but they will most likely perform with caution, with reservation. Idiots.”

“If you are quite done, brother,” Mycroft said evenly from the door. Molly jumped at the voice, not hearing the man’s silent approach. Sherlock, of course, held no such inclination. He only glared at his brother.

“What is it, Mycroft?” He snapped again. His foul mood was made fouler because of his older brother’s presence. Molly didn’t know fully where the animosity between the two Holmes had come about, especially seeing as they were so similar. Maybe that was the cause of problems?

“My team is not quite as incompetent as you seem to think, brother dearest.” Molly watched as a brief look of relief crossed Sherlock’s face, quickly replaced by that blank mask again.

“Dear Lord, Mycroft,” Sherlock drawled, managing to look regal whilst still being covered in only a white coverlet. “Do you mean to tell me that they have managed to accomplish the simple task of committing only a single murder? They ought to be commended for their efforts!” While sarcasm still fairly dripped from the man’s voice, his satisfaction was equally obvious.

“Yes, well, they managed to handle the situation better than a ten-year-old angry at the fact that he’s been sent to the naughty corner.”

“Is it done?”

Molly noticed a shift in the atmosphere that was sudden, to say the least. In the blink of a second, the younger Holmes had turned into the desperate child and the older had turned to the caring brother.

Mycroft’s eyes softened and Molly had the sense that she was intruding on a moment where she had no business being around.

“Yes. You have played your part, brother dearest.” Molly watched with her jaw hanging as Mycroft stooped down to the bed and lightly kissed Sherlock’s head. What shocked her more was when Sherlock just closed his eyes and let out a sigh. No snarls, no degrading comments about the older Holmes’s weight. All the energy seemed to just flow out of the detective’s body.

When Mycroft moved to leave the room, Sherlock grabbed at his hand.

“Myc, I - thank you, brother.”

With a last smile at his brother and a nod of acknowledgement at Molly, the British government strolled out of the room, lightly closing the room behind him.

“Molly,” Sherlock said gently, drawing the woman’s attention back to the bed. He seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open and smothered a yawn in the small pause that grew. “I think I will be going to sleep now, Ms Hooper. I suggest you do the same.”

As Sherlock’s words ended on an inaudible mumble, Molly exited the room. The overgrown child was tired and needed sleep. He deserved it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a bit awkward for me. I generally post completed works. Not sure how I feel, putting up an uncompleted work...Don't worry, though. The next chapter is on its way! Just don't ask for a specific time...Oh, and feel free to point out anything I got wrong or that just doesn't flow. There's plenty that I get wrong anyway, might as well try to improve those little things.


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